


The Way We Were

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-01
Updated: 2011-11-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:06:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10787304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Draco wants Pansy back after the war.





	The Way We Were

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

            Draco walked past the bed-and-breakfast establishment twice before settling himself on a park bench across the street.  Surely Pansy didn’t actually own this place called The Willows.  Her parents weren’t wealthy, and she couldn’t have saved enough money to buy it herself.  Professor Slughorn must have gotten that part wrong.  

            He desperately hoped Pansy would invite him to stay for a few days.  Life at Malfoy Manor had grown intolerable.  At twenty, Draco was still financially dependent on his parents because no one would hire him.  His mother paid him a piddling sum for helping with her owl-order business, but it was hardly enough to keep him in cigarettes.  

            To save on heating and cleaning, most of the Manor had been closed off.  Draco and his parents lived in a few rooms near the kitchen.  Their house elves were given clothes because the Malfoys couldn’t afford to feed them.  Even the white peacock was gone.  Draco was positive it had ended up in one of those ghastly stews his mother made while she was learning to cook. 

            He no longer believed that his father would find a way out of their financial difficulties.  Lucius was now gray-haired and gaunt, looking years older than he was.  Sometimes he didn’t seem to recognize his wife and son.  The Healer at St. Mungo’s had a fancy Muggle term for it:  post-traumatic stress disorder.  

            To keep her husband occupied, Narcissa suggested he write his memoirs.  Lucius now spent most of his time scribbling in exercise books salvaged from Draco’s school things.  

            Draco lit a cigarette, chuckling as he thought of his mother going into trade.  She had started an owl-order business, selling beauty products and potions she made herself.  Since the Malfoy name was unlikely to attract customers, her product line was called Bewitching Beauty.  While the profits had kept them from having to sell the Manor, they would never again be wealthy.  

            He wished Pansy would come out.  The slight breeze was chilly, and he hadn’t brought a jacket.  He decided to wait a few more minutes before venturing inside.

            Pansy had left Hogwarts shortly after the battle, without waiting to sit for her N.E.W.T.’s.  Draco assumed she had gone home, but he was too enmeshed in his own problems to contact her.  When he finally did, Mrs. Parkinson informed him that Pansy had left England for a “fresh start.”  She refused to provide her daughter’s new address.  None of their school friends knew where Pansy had gone.  Draco hoped she would write to him, but she never did.    

            As time passed, he thought of her less often.  Wherever she was, he hoped she was happy.  

            Her whereabouts might have remained a mystery forever if Professor Slughorn hadn’t written an article for the _Daily Prophet_ about his recent tour of New Zealand.  _“While in Wadlington, I stayed at a charming bed-and-breakfast called The Willows.  To my surprise, the proprietress was a former pupil, Miss Pansy Parkinson.  She and her efficient staff outdid themselves making my stay a pleasant one.”_

For several days, Draco debated on whether to contact Pansy.  She obviously didn’t wish to hear from him or she would have written long ago.  He dug out a picture of them taken at the Yule Ball.  Pansy was laughing as he whirled her around the dance floor.  How young they were; how sweet she had been that night.

            “What happened to us?” Draco whispered, as if Pansy’s moving image could give him an answer. 

            They had drifted apart during sixth year.  While he didn’t dare tell Pansy about his assignment to kill Dumbledore, she knew he was involved in something way over his head.   

            _“Where were you last night, Draco?  I waited for hours.”_

_“I was busy.  There’s a war on, remember?”_

_“Something is eating you up inside.  Tell me what it is.   Let me help you.”_

            He couldn’t remember exactly when they had stopped going out, but it was long before that fateful night on the astronomy tower.

            Seventh year was such a nightmare that Draco still couldn’t bear to think of it.  He sought Pansy out for sex a few times; callously ignoring her needs once his own were satisfied.  She didn’t protest, which for some reason infuriated him.  

            He allowed Millicent Bulstrode to give him a blow job, which was so disgusting that he scrubbed himself raw in the prefect’s bathroom afterward.  

            He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t see Pansy come outside and cross the street.  It wasn’t until she stood in front of him that he looked up.  

            “Pansy!” he exclaimed happily, springing up to embrace her.  

            She stepped back just out of reach.  

            “I looked out the window and couldn’t believe my eyes,” she said coldly.  “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?  How did you find me?”

            “Professor Slughorn wrote an article for the _Daily Prophet_ about staying here,” Draco explained.   “He said you were the proprietress.”

            “Why would he think that?  I suppose it was because the owners were away and I was covering the front desk.”

            Even though she obviously wasn’t pleased to see him, Draco suddenly realized he still loved her.  How could he have let her slip through his fingers?  

            “Can we go somewhere and talk?” he asked.             

            “I’m working, Draco.  I can’t just leave.”

            He looked so crestfallen that she relented. 

            “Come inside,” she said.  “I suppose we can talk while I work.”

            The aroma of freshly-baked bread assaulted Draco’s nostrils as soon as they entered The Willows.  To his embarrassment, his stomach gave a loud growl.  Pansy nodded to the pleasant-faced woman behind the front desk.  

            Draco noticed the telephone and computer.

            “This place is Muggle?” he whispered.

            “Yes, and you don’t have to whisper,” Pansy replied, leading the way to an elevator.  “The owners know I’m a witch.”

            “I didn’t realize you were acquainted with Muggles,” Draco said in surprise.

            Pansy had apparently been cleaning when she spotted him.  A cart loaded with supplies stood in one of the bedrooms.  Draco moved to sit on the bed.    

            “Don’t sit there, I’ve just made it up fresh for the next guest,” she said sharply, pointing to a chair.  Sliding her hands into latex gloves, she picked up a can of furniture polish and a cloth.  

            Draco watched in amazement.  He had never seen her do any sort of menial labor.   

            “Is that what you do here, clean the rooms?” he inquired.  

            “Yes,” Pansy replied, polishing the bedside table industriously.  “Actually, I do a little bit of everything.  Did you happen to bring a copy of the _Daily Prophet?_   I’d like to read Professor Slughorn’s article.”

            “No, but I’ll send you one when I get home,” he promised.  “I was hoping to stay here for a few days.  Are all the rooms like this one?”

            “Pretty much, but I’m afraid we’re full,” Pansy said, exchanging the furniture polish for window cleaner.  “It’s the tourist season.  Guests book with us months in advance.”

            A young man stuck his head in the doorway.

            “I’ve finished the rooms on the third floor—oh, excuse me,” he apologized as he noticed Draco.

            “Mark, this is Draco Malfoy.  We were at Hogwarts together,” Pansy introduced them.  “Draco, this is Mark Morgan.  His parents own The Willows.  You saw his mother at the front desk when we came in.”  

            “Pleased to meet you,” Mark said pleasantly, extending his hand.  

            Draco wasn’t pleased with the interruption, but he shook Mark’s hand.  

            “I’m almost finished here, and then I’ll start on the dining room,” Pansy said, smiling at Mark in a way that made Draco want to punch him.  

            “Is this your first visit to New Zealand, Draco?” Mark asked.  

            “Yes.  I came expressly to see Pansy, but she isn’t very welcoming,” Draco replied, deliberately sounding nasty.

            Pansy glared at him and drew Mark into the hall.  

            “I’m sorry, but I have a situation here,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice.  

            “I understand.  Look, why don’t I take care of the dining room so you and Draco can have some time together?”

            Draco was incensed.  After all he and Pansy had been to each other, he was now a _situation._   

            “Would you mind?  He’s come a long way, and we have some catching up to do.”

            “No problem.  There’s soup and sandwiches in the kitchen if he’s hungry.  I’ll see you later.”

            Pansy returned to the bedroom and picked up a long-handled brush.  Draco wondered if she would hit him with it, but she went into the adjoining bathroom.  Merlin, she was actually scrubbing the toilet!  His mother did her own housework now, but she used cleaning charms.  

             “I suppose I owe you an explanation,” she admitted.  

            “You can start with why you left Hogwarts so suddenly,” Draco said, turning his chair so that he faced the bathroom.

            “I had to get away,” she sighed.  “Everything was over for me there.”

            “How did you wind up here?”

            “Mrs. Morgan – Louise – and my mother grew up in the same neighborhood and kept in touch through the years.  When I left school, I didn’t want to stay in England anymore.  Mother wrote and asked Louise if she had a job for me.”

            “I asked for your address, but your mother wouldn’t give it to me,” Draco pointed out.

            Pansy exchanged the toilet brush for a bottle of strong-smelling cleaning fluid and a roll of paper towels.  

            “I told her not to,” she confessed, spritzing the tub and sink.  “It was over between us, and there was no reason to stay in touch.  I wanted a fresh start.” 

            “We once meant everything to each other,” he said softly.  “I found a picture of us at the Yule Ball, and I remembered how happy we were that night.”

            Pansy gave him a strange look.

            “Is that how you remember it?  I was perfectly miserable because you criticized my dress.  You said I looked ghastly in pink.”

            “I don’t think I used the word ghastly,” Draco defended himself.   “I merely said that pink wasn’t your best color.”

            “It doesn’t matter now.  Why did you come here?” she asked quietly.  

            “To get you back.  There’s never been anyone but you.  I’m sorry for all that happened.  Can’t we start over?  I could stay here and get a job.  There’s nothing for me in England now,” he added bitterly.  “My father hasn’t been right since the war ended, and Mother’s gone into trade.  She has an owl-order business called Bewitching Beauty.”

            “Oh, I love those products,” Pansy exclaimed.  “They’re not sold here, but my mother sent me some.”

            Draco’s stomach growled again, and Pansy laughed.  

            “Let’s get you something to eat,” she said.  “We can finish our talk later.”


End file.
